


cease to know, or to tell, or to feel, or to be your own

by cm (mumblemutter)



Series: down there in the dark [1]
Category: Thor (Comics), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, F/M, Incest, Nursing Kink, Parent Loki, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 19:33:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mumblemutter/pseuds/cm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor and Loki and eight winters on the earth below.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cease to know, or to tell, or to feel, or to be your own

Loki has been gone for seven winters.

Seven winters that turn into spring turn into summer turn into autumn yet again. They are at war, all seven years, and Thor does not dwell on it. He asks Odin once, in a brief respite during battle: "Where is my brother?" Loki is an unreliable warrior at best, an agent of the most utmost chaos at worst. Still he could be of use, if Thor could convince him it would be to his advantage to come to Asgard's aid.

Odin says, "Where is your brother? He is hiding under the ice as only a coward would, birthing unnameable beasts and suckling them at his teat like a woman. That is where your brother is."

Thor thinks he jests, and then he thinks he does not. But the war requires attention, and Thor has no time to waste his breath on circular conversations.

Autumn turns to winter, and on a night cold enough to be cursed by a Jotun, the war is won, barely. By sweat, and blood, and sacrifice.

There is a celebration, hushed by exhaustion, and after the fifth mug of sour mead Thor asks the question yet again. "Where is my brother?"

"I have told you already," Odin replies. He is not so worn with worry now, and so Thor does not take his words as mere contempt for all that Loki is. For all that Loki has done, to ruin them all.

"He has been gone a long time."

"You would remember words I uttered over a winter ago."

"I will never forget Loki."

Weariness crosses Odin's face, chased by a banked sort of rage. "Go, then. See with your own eyes what sort of shame he has brought to the house of Odin."

"No more, surely, than you have brought upon it yourself."

"Enough," Frigga says, her hand on Thor's arm. "Go now. Before the storm comes, and even the God of Thunder must wait until it has passed to cross to where your brother hides."

Thor flies above the clouds, and when he cannot he flies below them, through snow and hail, and when he cannot he walks. Through a forest filled with magick, the trees dark and dead, and in their shadows: apparitions that screech as he approaches and disappear when he strikes.

Loki.

He is near.

The forest clears at the edge of a lake, the water so black it does not reflect light. A maiden rises from it, with long dark hair and the greenest of eyes. She calls out to him, smiles the most beautiful, beguiling of smiles. Thor knows now: all of this is only for him. He presses on.

He reaches a mountain, eventually, so tall it disappears into clouds only slightly lighter than the face of it, glistening dark and wet. He walks around it.

It takes two days, and two even longer nights before he arrives back where he began. Thor grips Mjolnir, and raises it to strike. Except: it is what Loki would expect. In the end, he only brings his arm forward, and it passes through the rock without resistance, disappearing into darkness. When he takes a tentative step forward, he finds no ground beneath his foot. And so he drifts instead, into pitch black, with whatever power Mjolnir has to spare down here. It is not a lot and he cannot see where he is going, but he allows the hammer and faith to guide him, until the air is so frigid even he cannot stand it.

He falls, and he falls and he falls, and he does not call out Loki's name until the ground shudders as he collapses onto it, dropping to his knees. There is rock above his head when he tries to stand up, and rock beside him as well. Loki must want him to crawl, and so he does. He is not a creature made for the cold, but he is used to this. Used to Loki's deliberate worst, in his touch, in his kiss. This is merely winter.

It is not long before he sees light, and emerges out into a cave, walls glowing faintly blue. The cave is bare, save for piles of fur strewn on the ground and a helmet, burnished gold and tossed carelessly at the far end. And Loki. Loki, who stands in the middle of it and says, "I laid traps so you would not come. And yet here you are, invading my sanctuary with your clumsy feet and indelicate hands."

"I have missed you as well, brother."

It is freezing, beyond frigid. Thor lifts his arms and finds a thin layer of frost forming upon them, cracking and melting away against his heat only to harden yet again.

Loki must be furious, then. All slights, even the most minor, amplify to where he will either strike or retreat to plot, to plan and wait for an unguarded day, a perfect opportunity. Loki the liar, Loki the trickster, Loki the god of all things untamed and unpredictable. Chaos made flesh. Female flesh - as Loki lifts his arms and allows the fur around his shoulders to pool to the ground.

Gone are the sharp angles, the sleek muscle built from years of warring at Thor's side. Warring against him. Instead he - she, Thor thinks. Instead her hips are gently curved, her belly soft. Thor allows his gaze to wander upwards, to breasts round and full, in part hidden by the fall of her dark hair, down to her waist.

"Do you like what you see?"

"Aye," Thor replies simply.

Loki blinks in surprise, before she scowls. "Go away," she mutters. "I do not need you here. Seven winters of peace and quiet, seven years without your dull insistence of intruding into my life."

"I have been busy," Thor says. "We were at war."

"We are always at war. Our father's lust for blood and power is insatiable."

"That is not the way it is, Loki." Thor puts Mjolnir down, and asks quietly, "Where are your children?"

Loki's hold her arms out wide, encompassing the earth, the sky. "My monsters," she says grandly, for Loki was always fond of spectacle. "They will eat the world." She stops, suddenly, hands falling limply to her sides. "And you."

Thor's armor grows heavy on him, enough to almost drive him to his knees. He takes a corner instead, starts to remove his clothes. Loki turns away as they fall to a pile, content to ignore him for now. She only turns back when he is naked, her narrowed glare flat and unimpressed. Thor holds out a hand, but she backs away, snarling.

He follows. He always follows. With Loki, he always follows. He falls to his knees, after all, to wrap his arms around her waist and drag her close. She quivers briefly, but goes still when he presses his mouth to her belly.

"My blood is on that ground your knees are pressed upon, spilled when I pushed out one filthy beast after another." Thor says nothing, only tightens his grip. "They ripped me apart, and I was left to stitch myself together again. With the twine you used to sew my lips shut. Remember?"

"No, Loki. That is not how it happened. I did not allow it. I would never." As cold as Thor is, her flesh feels warm to him, and he cannot help but drag her down onto the floor. She snarls at him, but settles down soon enough when he presses a kiss to her brow and gently brushes strands of her hair out of her face.

"My children require feeding," Loki says, as Thor takes her wrists into his hand, holds them loosely above her head. She is as strong as she ever was as a man; Thor can feel the muscles flex as he presses in between her knees, but she does not throw him off. "Are you listening to me, you rabid brute."

"Aye," Thor presses another kiss to her brow. "You have gone mad."

"Eight winters with a clamouring, insatiable brood. As would you."

"It was your choice."

"I had no choice, you fool. As if you could stop a star from being born, should it wish to be. I am but what they feed on. Look," she says, and her smile turns sly, turns desperate, turns oddly beguiling, turns familiar. "Touch me, if you must. If you desire me so."

"I always desire you so." He raises his hand to her breast, cups it gently. Its heaviness is unnatural, firm under his touch. There is wetness; Thor puts his thumb to his mouth and tastes a rich, blooming sweetness, faintly tempered with sour.

Loki sighs beneath him, but her voice is mocking when she says, "Would you suckle from me like one of my monstrous offspring, brother of mine? What would father say, to see you so debased, so wanton."

"Father is not here," Thor says, "And I would kiss your lips first, if you were to promise not to bite me." His cock is heavy, pressed against Loki, but it is not yet what he wants.

"I make no such promises. But you are free to do your best."

She turns back, opening her mouth to allow him in. She does not bite him, only gives the slightest of moans, and when he breaks away her eyes are narrowed slits and her chest heaves. Thor slides his hand down the valley of her chest, trails his kisses down to her breast. He hesitates briefly, his mouth open over her swollen nipple, but it is only to hear her hitch in a breath as he flickers his tongue out. The same milk sweetness, warmer than Loki's blood.

Thor moves his wet thumb to Loki's mouth and she jerks away, twisting her head to the side. "Loki," Thor breathes, lowering himself to kiss her throat, her jaw, and finally her lips. Loki tolerates it until she chooses not to, then she twists in his arms, somehow slippery enough to land on her belly, even though her wrists are still trapped in his hand. Thor drapes himself heavily over her back and breathes in the thick, earthen scent of her hair. When she shakes her head to expose the line of her shoulder, Thor bites down on pale skin, leaves bruises dark and blooming blue as she shakes and presses down into the fur.

Loki says, "Please," and Thor releases his grip on her hands, hauls her close by the hips, and she was always warmer inside than out, but never this easy to breach, never this wet. Loki arches her back and Thor curls himself forward, twining her hair around his fingers so she cannot move as he slides deeper, starts to move against her. "Thor," she says yet again, her thighs clenching around him, and then she laughs, a soft, shivery thing. "Do you enjoy Sif's new tresses when you take her like this? Don't tell me it didn't please you -"

"Do not," Thor says, but it is too late, it is done, he is done, he is undone, jerking as he spills inside of her, hand tightening on the base of her skull. Her thighs quiver as she laughs yet again, but stops when he uses whatever sense he has left to bring his hand around, press it to where his cock meets the soft folds of her cunt. Loki yelps, shimmying under him, and this at least he can give her. This at least she will take, sighing softly after a while and going slack, allowing him to fall yet again onto her back.

It is quiet in the cave, save for both of their harsh breathing, until the madness starts to rise in Loki yet again and she curses at him until he releases her. When he finally rises to his feet, she wraps her fur around her body and watches him silently.

Thor misses his brother, for all of his wretchedness. For all that she is.

"Will you come home soon," he asks.

Loki laughs and falls back down onto the furs. "Only to bring my beautiful son with me, to cook Odin and simmer him as stew. We will have a feast for days."

"You cannot end us so easily, Loki. But I would grant you the chance to try, if you would only return. This is no place for a son of Asgard."

"And yet here you are." She spreads her legs, puts her fingers between them and then to her lips. "I could have another, with your seed."

Thor picks up Mjolnir and moves to go down on a knee next to her. Loki smiles, and Thor takes her hand in his, presses her fingers to his mouth. "A god," he says. "A god killer. Better than a god."

She wrenches her hand away, sits up. "Leave," she snaps viciously. "I am done with you." A pause, as she lifts her head to sniff the air. "Oh, it is too late now. The storm would end you."

"I have survived many storms."

"None such as this. But go. Die. I will see you as I pass by Hel."

"Loki."

After too long a wait, Loki says, "Very well, you can stay. But the furs are mine." She drags them all around her, buries herself up to her neck until all he can see is her head and her hair, spilling over.

Thor finds a corner to rest in, sits against rock with his cloak thrown around him for warmth. But there is little magick here that isn't Loki's, and Loki's magick is not meant for heat. He starts to shiver, which has not happened since he was last in Jotunheim, so many years ago.

Loki sighs, ever impatient, and lets him suffer for a while, until Thor's vision starts to go dark and he cannot feel his limbs any longer. Only then does Loki rise lithely to her feet, and as his sight dims all Thor can make out are shapes and shadows: a shadow wrapping himself around Thor, cool skin that still warms him. He seeks out the breast on instinct, latching on while Loki mutters words of spite and resentment above him, all the while raking her fingers through Thor's hair as if he were a pet.

It does not come at first, as Thor covers his mouth over the pink flesh, but he sucks harder and with less care and then it overflows into his mouth, flooding it with milk. It is warm; for Thor, perhaps. Thor swallows, and keeps suckling, and forgets to breathe until Loki's harsh cries remind him. He wraps an arm around her waist and hauls her closer, further into his lap. Loki makes a strangled noise as Thor slowly sits her down, until he is fully sheathed inside her, and yet he does not move. He cannot, all he wants is to drink, to swallow as much as he can.

Loki's hand comes up into his hair, yanks his head up. Thor blinks at her in surprise. She gestures. "Do it," she says, and there is finally some sort of entreaty in her voice. "Thor."

Thor nods his head, fastens his mouth to her other breast, and she moves against him slowly, the pleasure a slow, roiling thing in his belly. Milk floods his mouth, and spills over. Thor pulls away to lap at her breast, her skin, leaving a sticky mess behind as he marks her skin, marks her as his.

Loki rides him until he feels he might break, as if he would shatter, and if he weren't slightly warmer he might, into shards of ice that his wretched brother would only complain about as she picked it out of her precious furs. He fastens his mouth yet again around her breast, unable to stop. "You are greedy," Loki says, but does not push him away. Thor flickers his tongue against her wet nipple and she curses his name, sliding down further onto his cock.

He finishes unexpectedly, yet again, when Loki bends almost to the floor, her legs clamped around his waist and Thor's hand against the small of her back the only things keeping her from falling. It comes as a rush, and he shudders against her as she hitches in a breath, calls out his name.

Thor lowers her to the ground gently, still attached to her breast but not feeding. His belly is full.

She pushes Thor off, soon enough. "I hope you are sufficiently warm now."

"Aye." He snakes his arm out before she can slide away, pulls her to his chest. "Come home," he says, against the line of her jaw.

"I have children to rear."

"Come home."

"Why?"

"Because I want you there."

"Then stay," Loki says, twisting in his arms so her back is against him. "Let my babies eat you."

"I am not afraid of them."

"Your foolishness is a source of endless delight to me."

"Aye," Thor says again.

The storm will pass, and he will be duty-bound to leave. The storm will pass, and Loki will bore of him and force him to go. But for now he is here. He is warm.

**Author's Note:**

> For the **bodily secretions** square. (Yay for communal cards!) Most vaguely inspired by events in, or mentioned in, _The Trials of Loki_.


End file.
